


Ossuary

by krishkills (worldsworstfather)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Hanahaki AU, Hurt No Comfort, Not Beta Read, Pain, actually maybe a little comfort, and au of the verse lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldsworstfather/pseuds/krishkills
Summary: It goes like this. You fall in love. Vines curl around your ribs. One of you has to die.
Relationships: Jericho La Follette/Artemis Tareq
Kudos: 1





	Ossuary

It starts in June. A laugh that turns into a strained cough that has Artemis turning around in concern. 

“It’s fine, just got something stuck.” Jericho assures them. It’s just a cough, a cold. He hopes. His throat feels raw only in the way it was after ripping sketches off his bedroom walls in a frenzy and throwing them along with a match in the little dustbin by his desk. 

He hopes this isn’t some long-dormant disease that was coming to torment him. A reminder of younger days, of his mother pressing cool cloths on his forehead as his venom went wild, pouring off him like sweat. To the point where he’d wake up in the middle of night lying in a thin layer of poison. 

But it wasn’t. It didn’t spread. It just stays clogging his throat where he’d excuse himself into the bathroom- trying to hurl out whatever was bothering his fickle craw.

In the summer, Jericho likes taking out their dog on walks while Artemis continues on their recent obsessions in the darkroom. It’s nice here, there isn’t anything that sucks his life out of him here. Like the city. Things are open here, acres and acres of room for just him and Artemis and their cat. There were rare moments of silence in the city- quickly shattered by the blare of a car horn or the bawling of a babe. 

He likes to be here in the afternoons, trousers pulled up to his knees in the way that his parents would hardly ever approve of. Feet bare, and the water lapping against them as he squinted against the sun. 

The thoughts of unwrapping the leash that he had tied tight against his wrist, pushing himself off the dock and submerging into the water. Breathing out so that the air will slowly crush his lungs, fill him up with something besides ache and longing. Sink, sink, sink deep until his back touches the smoothed stones at the bottom so that the sun looks like a warbled skylight up above. 

But he doesn’t. Because of that hissing voice against his battered soul;  _ too easy _ . 

It would be, wouldn’t it? Easy.

Jericho has never been one to take the easy way out. He drinks too much to remember which way  _ that _ is. 

No one would really come out here, by the lake. Jericho comes here every day and no one will really notice if his body finally went limp, floated up to the surface. No one other than the soft birds that sang in the foliage. 

Jericho would rather not be found by anyone. Anyone other than Artemis, he supposed. Artemis was probably the only one who’d come looking- anyway. Jericho didn’t want to say that Artemis  _ cared _ . That would imply that they had something gentle between them. Sure, Artemis would slowly cup his chin sometimes, warm their lips for a minute, and then turn right back to their work. 

_ Cares _ , he thinks, is likely too much of a restricting word. It’s enough to make him hesitate, make him doubt if he even knows the right word to use anymore. 

Perhaps it’s not even ‘care’ anymore. Maybe he’s just someone to save. Someone desperate for salvation has found someone desperate to give it. 

Funny how life worked that way. 

Artemis finds him again, when the sun is dipping lower and the wind is cold as it whips hair into his eyes. The dog had gotten restless a while ago, and Jericho had taken the clip of his collar, letting him chase butterflies in the field behind him. 

Artemis’ arms noose his waist, cheek rested against the nook between his shoulder blades, “Alone time?”

Jericho hummed in response, leash still wrapped around his fingers so that he wouldn’t lose it. He looked down at where hands locked around his hips. A part of him warms. Artemis gets it. Alone meant alone- but not entirely. Away from the decadent house that the Institute had provided for them. Away from the letters that piled up in front of their doorway. Letters that seemed to get more urgent as time went by. The swirling calligraphy turning into large, red stains with the words “ _ JERICHO, PLEASE.” _ Sometimes Reist would write equally endearing things in his red ink. Things like, “ _ ARE YOU ALRIGHT, PLEASE RESPOND _ .”

He was alright. The lack of a response was probably doing nothing to soothe the Grand Mage’s worries. But Jericho was  _ okay _ . 

“I’m thinking of taking my work father up the mountain.” Artemis whispered, breath hot against the thin cotton shirt. 

_ Farther up the mountain. Closer to a source. Away. Alone.  _

“Congratulations.” Jericho replied. What  _ else _ was he supposed to say? 

Artemis leans forward, smiles, “Thank you.”    
  
Jericho wills the venom at his hands away, their fingertips brush. Jericho feels something heavy rise in his throat- something that has him coughing. Rubs at his heart so that it burns, lacerates his throat.

Artemis is thumping his back, but it only makes him cough harder- to the point where he’s shuddering with it. He feels tears forming in his eyes from the force it, and he thinks. Vaguely, distantly, as if he’s gulping in lungfuls of oxygen and his breathing slowly begins to even out. He thinks that this doesn’t seem like something that’s going to go away soon. 

“Are you okay?” Artemis asks. Their voice is unbearably tender. Fresh, even.

“I don’t know.” he said. That isn’t true, not entirely because a part of him knows that he isn’t. A part of him knows he’s whittling at this point. 

He isn’t, at all. He likes to scrub his skin in the shower and wish that the urge to sink his teeth into his own arms will wash away with palmolive bar soap if he scours his skin hard enough. He can slough the feeling off- sometimes. But the sickly, suffocating darkness that has the stronghold of his heart- that never seems to peel away. It slithers and slides insidiously against his viscera, sends him spiralling somewhere the words are sour but tempting by the saccharine way they feel like a lover’s hark. He can’t help but lap them up anyway- like how he reached for wine when they’ve had little tabs on their tongue that never taste quite as sweet as Artemis promises they’re supposed to.  _ Slow, uncomparable, too gentle, too timid, too bothered. _

Now he’s broken over a lake, skin pale like the porcelain dolls that bob their heads when you tap them. He doesn’t even have the energy to tremble anymore, just stay still as the feeling twists his ventricles around. Artemis has his wrists in their hands. They’ve laid him on the dock, and they’re saying something. Maybe it sounds like they’re concerned, but things have been so warped recently. Jericho’s mind is probably warping this too. 

Their touch  _ burns _ , makes it hurt so much. Makes his tongue taste like sandpaper, and he suppresses another bout of coughs  _ because because because- _

🌺

Jericho hasn’t been one for beaches. 

Things get sweaty, hair sticks to his face with the weight of salt in the breeze. And the sand- awful sort of thing, determined to get in every crevice.  _ And _ there is no way to look dignified walking on the sand- you end up tripping at some point. The sun that is automatically provided with the setting. The stickiness and dampness everywhere makes him feel disgusting. 

And somehow, Artemis convinced Jericho to come along to this outing. ‘Just the three of them’ they’d hummed. Three, being Artemis, Jericho, and Cerys. Don’t know how Artemis managed to get the other sorcerer out of her studies, but it seemed like Artemis had a way with everyone they met. 

It’s a pebble beach, so it’s marginally better than the sandy hellscape that he would’ve been forced to cope with. But beaches are beaches, so who can blame him for not being too excited about the situation?

He supposes beaches can’t be all bad- even though he’s sitting meters away from where any other person is, legs brought up to his chin. He hasn’t seen Artemis smile like this- even though it is doing the most childish thing conceivable, splashing in the water. But it’s nice. There’s a bright happiness in their grin, a tenderness in the way they smile a little crooked- as if they weren’t able to do so as a child. 

Of course, they’re with Cerys when it happens. A smile like that isn’t meant to be shared with the likes of him. 

They’ve moved to a picnic bench now, a distance away from the water. Artemis managed to escape yet again to wade in the waves along the shore. Now it’s just him and Cerys, watching Artemis get knocked down by waves half their size, only to pop back up with a triumphant grin and a cheery thumbs-up. 

Jericho’s soul softens at this. The way Artemis can smile, carefree and without responsibility. 

Ceryn catches him staring, and he quickly averts his gaze. Shame burns in his insides. Confusing, because there was no shame in watching, was there?

They’re both quiet for a moment, wind whistling some salty air towards them, “Have you told him?” she asks. 

His breathing begins to quiver, “No.”

When he finally gathers the courage to look back at Ceryn, all he sees is sorrow. Sorrow that paints her irises a soft green and twists the patterns inside. They’re edged with sympathy that feels like a nauseatingly sweet reprieve at the moment, and laced with regret. It’s the regret that sours the taste- makes Jericho wary. It curdles the anguish like milk, keeping dormant eyes that have not lit up in a long, long time. 

“I don’t plan on it.” Jericho whispered, “They don’t, They don’t. They- I don’t have a chance.” He releases it all in one breath, everything inside screams to take the words back, knowing that they’d hurt more now that someone else knew about them. 

Ceryn only looks sad, smiles through it, and Jericho can feel the emptiness grow. This isn’t- not like this- this isn’t how it was-

“You know the way they look at you, haven’t you? I’m not wrong,” Jericho says it sharply, as if he was accusing Ceryn. As if it were somehow  _ her _ fault that Artemis looked at Ceryn the way Jericho looked at Artemis. With longing. 

It’s not her fault, of course. Ceryn is gentle, sweet, kind, funny,  _ good _ at things. Jericho doesn’t have it in him to compete anymore. 

Ceryn looks away, “I...I have. But I cannot love Artemis like that. I cannot care for them the way they care about me.” Her hand goes up to hastily wipe at her eyes, a hopeless show of grief. Jericho’s heart aches. 

“Artemis means a lot to me.” She whispered, “But they cannot mean  _ this _ .”

Jericho feels his throat stricken, “I’m- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Ceryn looks at him, eyes rimmed with red, and offered him a watery smile, “It’s alright, Jeo.” her hand ruffles his hair, “I know you didn’t mean it. I understand.”

Jericho coughs. Less cough, and more of a choking sound. They’re hacking coughs, like he’s sick with disease. His throat is constricting around something, being torn apart by the rough texture inside. Ceryn’s patting his back as he’s doubled over- wheezing in lungfuls of air. Nothing seems to help. He’s bent over and his mouth tastes like copper- vision dizzy, but he can make a guess enough to know that he’s on the pebbles now.

He coughs, for quite a while, and it seems like it can’t end until his back straightens- hand holding tight onto Ceryn’s arm. He’s dizzy now, his vision wobbles in the way that he can’t tell up from down. Once it steadies, and Ceryn manages to pull him to his feet, he looks down. 

There’s blood on the pebbles. 

🌺

It's a month or two before he sees Artemis again. He’s by the lake when they come up, carrying a pouch of pumpkin seeds. They take place beside Jericho on the dock, legs crossed in a way that was so  _ Artemis _ that Jericho still finds it mesmerising. They don’t talk, Artemis’ head rests on Jericho’s shoulder and the fish swim against Jericho’s feet. It’s quiet, like this. Not much has disturbed Jericho since Artemis was away. Except, of course, the coughing. 

The waking up at night in a cold sweat and tongue burning of acid. Stumbling to the bathroom. Blood staining porcelain. Water turning into ros é. 

It was unexpected, but not out of character when Artemis shoved Jericho into the lake. Toppling Jericho’s axis as they usually did. It didn’t take too long to surface- the lake was hardly seven feet deep, and Jericho bounced up without much of an issue, “You ass!” he grumbled, wading back to the small wooden dock. 

Artemis was laughing full of color, and Jericho felt something bubbling up inside him. Something that’s part desperate and part lonely- both hurt, but he chokes it down like glass. 

It’s rather cruel, all things considered. The world, tempting him with sweet and saccharine things that he cannot stand to have. Not saccharine moments that were artificially sweet, like when he got a ‘good job’ from his parents. Not fleeting like that. These were deep, rich, like dark chocolate filled with the spice of cognac. 

It feels like his jaw is being pried open, all of that lachrymose and schmaltz being washed out with ammonia. Things that burn until there’s no sweet left,  _ screams _ in question  _ do you deserve this, do you deserve them? Sweet is only for those who’ve earned it? Do you think you’ve earnt this? Do you really think you deserve to swallow such a thing? _

He feels something lodged in his throat again. 

There isn’t much blood anymore. He just coughs, and coughs until they become unstuck.

The petals, that is.

He’d found them some days ago, after his work in the library. He was going to bed when he found the sudden urge to cough again. He’d been over the marble sink- confused on why there was so much clotting. There shouldn’t be thick globules of dark red like that. He wiped his mouth with the towel, not too worried about the staining anymore. 

When he washes the sink away with water, something remains. Crowded around the drain, somewhat gentle, as they lay on each other.

They’re deep red- and Jericho isn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed them earlier. In the night, they probably looked one in the same with his blood. 

Amaranths. He can’t help but chuckle at that one. He picks up one of the little buds, running water over it so that it was just itself. Amaranths, commonly known as “love lies bleeding”. Hopeless love.

He was no physician, but he’d read enough about these sorts of things to know the symptoms. One month of Amaranths- the first stage. The warning signs. It was to only get worse from there. 

_ Haven’t I suffered enough? _ He wanted to ask. 

Considering this new development, the answer was clearly ‘no’.

So how much longer until the world would finally decide to give Jericho a little leeway?

He looks up at Artemis now, they’re beaming and their smile is far too wide for Jericho to feel pain. Like an anesthetic. 

There’s a cure to this- quite the catch though. Once the procedure was over, he’d have no memory of his feelings. 

He’d like to say that he’d consider it. Even say that he  _ did _ all those months that Artemis had been away, doing jobs and things that Jericho still did not understand. There’s shame that slithers in his gut that reminds him otherwise. It had been surprisingly fast, the way he’d made restitution. The decision had been so quick and sure that it saddened him. 

It should be terrifying how willing he is to accept his death. But he is.

He’d rather it be Artemis. The reason for his flight and fall. Die feeling something rather than live and feel nothing. Not too bad of a trade. 

  
  


🌺

It’s awful watching Artemis and Ceryn flit around each other, an odd sort of torture. Ceryn’s movements are slow, melancholy, stained with her own yearning, a murky hue of blue and purples. Jericho can almost hear the melody she dances to, gentle strings plucking and fraught chords strumming the way that Kole would press calloused thumbs to the same guitar. Jericho wonders if Ceryn ever cuts herself on the rose thorns she dances so close to. 

Artemis’ movements are resigned and heavy around Ceryn. A patient soul ready to wait forever, arms at their sides- given up on reaching out. Soft piano keys and pitched tones, sweetness and mourning drizzled over closed lips and a locked heart. 

As for him, he watches them smile. Smiles laid with ambiguity and longing of their own. Something that isn’t quite envy is coating his skin, turning it into a shade that’s less green and more sickly grey. It might be the color of knowing. 

He does often wonder what  _ he _ would sound like if he had his own tune of sorrow. He knows the swaying in thick honey with heartache, longing for things he’s not allowed to have. Not when there’s years behind others and all he has is just  _ wishing _ . 

After all, he’s the one with flowers in his lungs. Isn’t he?

He doesn’t hear any music anymore. He doesn’t know the exact moment he stopped hearing the trill and strumming of a harp. It doesn’t matter though, not even the sound of loneliness can staunch a bleeding heart. 

He doesn’t have the  _ energy _ anymore. Other than to sit by the desk, continue to pour over old text and letters from the Magistrate. Then clean, make something to eat. There’s not much sound in the house like this.

Hopefully, the flowers won’t take too long to crush the air out of his lungs. 


End file.
